


The Spirit of Christmas

by Jecari



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jecari/pseuds/Jecari
Summary: On Christmas Eve, a chain of events puts Merlin's holiday spirit to the test. When a blizzard unexpectedly hits Camelot, and he has to spend the night at Albion—the coffee shop that he owns—Merlin believes that things are beyond repair.Except, Merlin's not alone: Arthur is here, and he has a plan.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65
Collections: WinterKnights 2020 - a Merlin Winter/Holiday Fest





	The Spirit of Christmas

Merlin loves Thursdays.

What’s not to love? It’s the middle of the week, the coffee shop is calm enough outside of rush hours, and Merlin works the early shift with his favorite coworker: Gwen. Thursdays are good, they’ve always been, they’re Merlin’s lucky days. Most of the good things that have happened to him happened on a Thursday. Merlin was born on a Thursday, he got his driver's license on a Thursday, and he was kissed for the first time on a Thursday.

For some reason, Thursdays have always brought good news, but not this one. Today, Merlin’s alarm didn’t go off, his car took forever to start because of the cold, Will called in sick so Merlin has to cover his shift, Camelot is supposed to be hit with severe winter weather overnight... and it also happens to be Christmas Eve.

Hunith is understanding when Merlin calls her during his break to tell her that he has to work late. She brushes off Merlin’s apologies with a soft voice, assuring him that it’s not a big deal, and even asks Merlin to come over after work to make cookies. Obviously, Merlin agrees, but it’s not enough. He’s been looking forward to the whole thing: the eggnog, the cookies, the handmade ornaments, the Christmas carols, and the holiday movies. Instead, he has to take orders from people who have forgotten all about politeness. Merlin has to make all kinds of coffee and tea, and munch at the sad-looking cookies during his break because all the cute ones are gone and Gwaine just put a new batch in the oven.

Even the Christmas songs, the funny hats, and sweaters that all of the employees are wearing aren’t enough to cheer Merlin up. So, when the bell announcing a new customer walking in jingles twenty minutes before Merlin can start closing up the coffee shop, he’s ready to throw a fit. Merlin loves his job, he really does, but this day is testing his patience. However, Merlin takes a deep breath and puts a welcoming smile on his face before turning around.

“Welcome to—” Merlin starts the friendly, yet professional greeting for the umpteenth time today, but when his eyes settle on the customer—a regular named Arthur—he decides to skip it. “The usual?”

Merlin doesn’t expect Arthur to answer his question with words, but he waits for a sign of agreement. Arthur quickly gives it to him; he grunts and nods before turning around. Satisfied, Merlin starts working on Arthur’s order: black coffee and a triple chocolate muffin.

Arthur being a regular, he has a reputation amongst the employees of Albion, and it’s not a good one. Most of Merlin’s coworkers claim that Arthur is arrogant and rude, which ruins how handsome he is, but Merlin doesn’t agree. Arthur _is_ handsome—he has blonde hair that looks so soft Merlin wants to run his fingers through it, intense blue eyes that make Merlin’s look pale in comparison, an attractive square face with a sharp jawline, pouty lips that hide a beautiful crooked smile, and a hot body that is always nicely shown off by fitted suits. But Arthur isn’t really rude or arrogant. Merlin understands why others might think so, but the man just needs his after-work coffee to loosen up and have a conversation. Over the years, Merlin has found that once he got his coffee, Arthur’s a pretty decent guy.

By the time Merlin is done with his order, Arthur is settled at his usual spot: a booth by the large window. There’s barely enough room on the table for the coffee and the muffin. Arthur’s belongings cover most of the table: binder, sheets of paper, pens, and a laptop are scattered about. Merlin isn’t sure if Arthur has an admirable work ethic or if he’s unhealthily addicted to his work, but that’s what Arthur does every weekday. He gets out of work later than anyone else, comes here to work some more, and leaves seconds before closing time. In all honesty, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if after that Arthur goes home and keeps working.

Most of the time, Arthur stays silent. He works with a deep and focused frown on his face, and Merlin knows better than to disturb him. More rare are the times that Arthur leaves the booth to sit at the counter and starts a conversation. They talk about everything and nothing, while Merlin tidies up and cleans up. Whether they talk or not, it’s always nice to have some company. The late shift is the most tiring, and the slowest one, so Merlin likes having someone here with him. Even when he stays silent, there’s something that Merlin finds comforting about Arthur’s presence.

Arthur doesn’t say a word when Merlin puts the order down on the corner of the table, but he offers Merlin a small, grateful smile. It looks like today is one of those days Arthur doesn’t want to talk, so Merlin doesn’t linger. He smiles back at Arthur and walks away, a little bit disappointed. After the day he’s had, having someone to talk to would’ve been nice.

“You don’t usually work on Thursdays,” Arthur declares after a little while, surprising Merlin.

When he looks up from the stain of coffee his attention was focused on, Merlin finds Arthur sitting on a stool at the counter, his cup of coffee in hand. Leaving the sponge he was using on the counter, Merlin smiles at Arthur.

“You know my shifts?” Merlin cocks an eyebrow at Arthur, his smile growing bigger.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but a teasing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I come here every day—sometimes twice a day– so I know everyone’s shifts. Don’t flatter yourself, Merlin.”

“That’s not what I was doing,” Merlin defends himself, but he knows he’s blushing, he can feel his cheeks heat up at the way Arthur says his name. Troubled, he quickly looks down at the sponge then back up into Arthur’s eyes. “I’m just worried. Should I call the cops? That sounded really creepy. Are you a stalker?”

“I’m just observant,” Arthur shrugs before taking a sip of coffee. “On Tuesdays and Thursdays, that guy with the weird haircut works the afternoon shift and you work the morning one.”

“That’s creepy,” Merlin repeats. He grabs the sponge and goes back to cleaning the coffee stain.

“It’s _not_ creepy,” Arthur argues. “Did something happen?”

Sighing, Merlin checks the time on his watch before looking at Arthur and growing impatient. As much as he appreciates Arthur’s company, he can’t go to Hunith’s soon enough. When Merlin’s gaze settles, Arthur’s blue eyes already are on him, shining with curiosity and a hint of something Merlin can’t place.

“Will is sick, so I’m covering for him,” Merlin shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal. It’s not, it isn’t as though it’s Will’s fault if he came down with the flu. He’s just frustrated that it happened today.

“Lucky me,” Arthur smiles, his tone genuine. “He always puts too much sugar in my coffee, and I think he does it on purpose.”

“That does sound like Will,” Merlin chuckles before checking his watch again.

At this time, Merlin should be wrapped in a fluffy throw blanket, comfortably settled on his mom’s couch. He should be having eggnog and Christmas cookies while watching their favorite holiday classic. Instead, he’s here.

“Am I boring you, Merlin?” Arthur teases with a smile but Merlin doesn’t miss the slight annoyance in his voice.

“Yes, I’m dying of boredom here,” Merlin shoots back.

Arthur shakes his head and ignores Merlin’s reply. “You’ve checked your watch four times in the last ten minutes. I told you I’m observant,” he reminds Merlin when he opens his mouth to ask how he knows that. “What’s going on? Have somewhere to be?”

“Yes,” Merlin answers, a smile spreading across his face at the thought of his mother and making cookies with her. “I have plans after my shift.”

Arthur’s face falls at Merlin’s announcement, his smile replaced by a thin line and his eyes hardening. “Do you have a date?”

Arthur tries too hard to keep his tone light, and he even wiggles his eyebrows, but it doesn’t fool Merlin. Arthur’s question comes out harsh, he isn’t teasing Merlin, and there’s no playful glint in his eyes. If he didn’t know better, Merlin would think that Arthur is jealous.

“Actually, yes,” Merlin replies with a half-smile.

“Oh,” Arthur breathes out, looking away from Merlin’s eyes.

“With my mom,” Merlin adds, holding back a laugh.

Merlin’s smile widens as he watches the awkward tension leaving Arthur. His shoulders slouch and his jaw relaxes as he laughs. Despite the delightful, happy sound, Merlin doesn’t miss the sad and heartbroken shadow darkening Arthur’s blue eyes. It doesn’t stay long, but Merlin’s certain it was there.

“You’re so weird,” Arthur comments, before emptying the rest of his cup with one big gulp.

“It’s Christmas Eve!” Merlin exclaims, taking the cup to refill it. “What’s weird about spending Christmas Eve with your family?” He asks, looking at Arthur over the coffee machine.

“It-it’s Christmas Eve?”

Arthur looks so surprised it’s almost comical. He looks like Merlin just told him that unicorns are real— wide eyes and open-mouthed; dumbfounded. However, instead of jumping on the occasion to tease Arthur, Merlin feels his heart drop into his stomach. There’s nothing amusing about Arthur’s reaction. There’s only one kind of person that forgets about those things: people who don’t have anyone to spend the holidays with. Considering how much time Arthur spends working, Merlin suspected that Arthur’s social life wasn’t the most thrilling, but this? This is so sad, and not at all right. Merlin sincerely hopes he’s wrong.

“Don’t look so sad, Merlin,” Arthur offers a small smile that does nothing to hide his own heartache. “It’s not a good look on you.”

Handing Arthur a fresh cup of coffee, Merlin does his best to shake off the gloomy feeling that’s putting a frown on his face. He forces away that frown and replaces it with a smile, hoping it’s convincing enough.

“Seriously,” Arthur sighs, obviously annoyed. “You look like someone kicked your puppy,” he forces a smile as he grabs the cup. “It just slipped my mind.”

Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur, unable to read the look on his face. “How can Christmas slip your mind?”

“It just did,” Arthur shrugs.

“And you think that I’m wearing a Christmas sweater because…” Merlin trails off, pointing at his sweater—pine green with a reindeer, and _Merry Christmas embroidered_ on it.

Arthur frowns, looking at Merlin’s sweater, then his face.“I don’t know. Your sweaters are always weird,” he defends himself. “I guess I just stopped paying attention.”

“What about the Santa at the corner of the street or the choir or the decorations, then?” Merlin asks. “Did you not pay attention to any of those?”

Arthur replies with a shrug, as if it’s nothing. It might be nothing to him, but Merlin has a hard time wrapping his head around Arthur’s words and attitude. Something in the way that Arthur speaks and acts tells Merlin that he’s not as unfazed by all of this as he’s letting on. If he’s being honest, he’s confused, and a little bit worried. Merlin can’t help but silently stare at Arthur as the other man takes a sip of coffee, looking for clues about what’s going on in his head.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Arthur declares in a harsh tone that surprises Merlin. “Not everyone believes that Christmas is great and magical and fun. To some people, it’s just a day like any other. I happen to be one of those people, and that doesn’t call for pity.”

With that, Arthur slides down the stool and walks back to the booth where he left his things without sparing Merlin another glance. Merlin wants to argue, to tell him that he feels compassion and not pity, but Arthur is stubborn and probably won’t hear him now. Sighing in frustration, Merlin lets it go and focuses on his work since it’s time to close up for the day.

Merlin spends the next thirty minutes turning the equipment off and cleaning up to the sound of Arthur’s furiously typing. As time passes by, Merlin grows more and more irritated at the sound of the keys clacking and Arthur’s attitude. It’s not the first time they’ve been mad at each other—Merlin somehow offended Arthur on the first day they met, and they’ve come a long way since—so Merlin knows it won’t last, but it still bothers him. Sometimes, Arthur is an infuriating idiot and Merlin wants to punch him in the face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Arthur’s alarming tone startles Merlin. His head snaps up and his eyes are met with Arthur’s back. Arthur’s sitting close to the window, his nose pressed against it while his hands shield his eyes from the inside light.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asks, confused.

“Come see for yourself,” Arthur waves one of his hands, beckoning Merlin over.

Groaning, Merlin walks around the counter and steps towards the window. He kneels on the booth’s seat adjoining the one Arthur is sitting on and looks through the window. Just like Arthur, he uses his hands to block the light. Although Merlin can see outside, that doesn’t mean the visibility is good. Strong winds are blowing the falling snow, stopping Merlin from seeing anything past the windowsill.

A blizzard.

That’s _just_ what Merlin needed to brighten his day. There’s no way he can make it to his mother’s with this kind of weather and it’s the last straw. Merlin chuckles humorlessly, moving away from the window and sitting down.“Of course,” he scoffs, any good spirit left despite his bad day being blown away by the blizzard.

“Um,” Arthur hesitates. “There’s more.”

Merlin’s done, he can’t take any more bad news. He sends a dark look at Arthur over his shoulder and sighs, waiting for him to drop the bomb. Unsure, Arthur stares at Merlin in silence, his lips pressed together into a thin, tight line.

“What?” Merlin grunts, irritated and annoyed. “There’s a blizzard outside, what can be worse? Is the earth ending as well?”

Arthur frowns, probably confused by Merlin’s bad mood but he doesn’t have it in himself to care.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Arthur states the obvious, and Merlin almost gives in to the urge to smack him. _Almost_.

“This day just keeps getting worse,” Merlin’s heart feels heavy with unfairness, sadness, and frustration. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I don’t want to spend it alone!”

“Well, cheer up, Merlin,” Arthur says. “You won’t be alone, we’re stuck here together,” he announces in a sheepish tone.

Merlin can’t hide his sarcasm as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Brilliant. This is going to be _so_ much fun.”

“You know, I can just leave,” Arthur offers, unconvincingly. “If that’s what you want.”

His voice comes from Merlin’s right, so close that Merlin can feel his breath on his cheek. When he turns his head, Merlin finds Arthur with his arms crossed over the top of the backrest of their seats, his head propped on top of his forearms as he stares at Merlin.

“Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish or something?” Merlin sighs, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. As annoyed as he is right now, Merlin won’t let him go outside. “You’ll freeze to death or crash your car if you go out!”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Arthur’s lips. “Aw, Merlin, you care about me!”

Merlin rolls his eyes—at Arthur, but also at himself for getting over his annoyance so easily— feeling his own lips twitch. “I don’t want your death to be on my conscience, that’s all. You can stay.”

“How generous of you,” Arthur shakes his head, his smile still in place.

“Hey,” Merlin starts, moving on the seat so he can look at Arthur without hurting his neck. “I still can kick you out,” he playfully threatens Arthur, “be careful.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m stronger than I look!” Merlin protests.

He almost punches Arthur to support his claims but decides against it. Instead, he holds Arthur’s gaze and takes him in. One eyebrow raised dubiously, Arthur is looking back into Merlin’s eyes, a teasing smile on his faceMerlin takes a deep breath to get rid of the lingering irritation he’s feeling and looks around him. He’s still sad to miss the Christmas Eve traditions with his mother, but at least he’s not stuck in his car, freezing to death.

“You know,” Merlin starts, his eyes meeting Arthur’s again. “It could be worse. We have coffee, food, a Christmas tree—”

“We’re saved!” Arthur cuts Merlin off, his voice full of irony. “We have a Christmas tree!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Scrooge.”

“You should be nicer to your customers, Merlin,” Arthur advises with a smile. “It’s good for business.”

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin glares at Arthur before looking down at his watch. It’s past nine pm, which means that his shift is technically over. He flashes Arthur a smile before speaking:

“You’re not a customer anymore,” he points out, tapping his finger against his watch. “My shift is over.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up curiously. “What am I then?”

Merlin hums, trying to come up with a snarky response. However, before he can think of anything, the phone of the coffee shop rings, making both of them jump. Smiling at Arthur, Merlin shrugs, then leaves the booth to pick up the phone. He leans over the counter and the phone is barely against his ear when he recognizes his mother’s voice. She sounds panicky as she checks to make sure that Merlin is safe, then continues with giving Merlin a long list of advice.

“I know what to do, mom,” Merlin sighs and rolls his eyes even if she can’t see him. “What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

“You know me,” his mom chuckles, the sound filling Merlin’s chest with warmth, but sadness as well. “I’ll be fine. Stay safe and don’t even think about coming over tomorrow if driving isn’t safe.”

“But it’s Christmas!” Merlin argues.

“I know,” she sighs. “But I’d rather have many more Christmases with you than having you risk your life to spend this one with me.”

Deep down, Merlin knows that she’s right, but it doesn’t mean that he likes the idea of not spending the holiday with her.

“Fine,” he groans. “Love you.”

“I love you too, my boy,” his mom says. “Stay safe.”

Merlin hangs up with a sigh and takes a minute to process the conversation. He knows how unpredictable a blizzard can be, but he didn’t realize that he might not be able to make it to his mother’s for Christmas Day. Missing Christmas Eve is bad enough, but this… this is too much.

There’s a part of Merlin that knows he’s overreacting. It’s just bad luck, bad timing, and unpredictable weather, so he shouldn’t be so sad about it. They can make up for it next year or have a late Christmas. It’s just one day. However, the less logical part of him can’t ignore the way his heart aches. Merlin loves his mother more than anyone else in the world—he admires her for raising him alone and will forever be grateful for her kindness, benevolence, and acceptance—and Christmas has always been special for them. No matter how bad their finances were, she always made sure that Christmas was magical. There weren't always presents under the tree, but they always had a tree. There wasn’t always nice food, but they always had homemade cookies. There was always time spent together, laughter, and love. There was always Christmas spirit.

There was always _Christmas_.

“Is everything okay?”

Arthur’s voice snaps Merlin out of his thoughts but how is he supposed to explain to Arthur—who seriously lacks the Christmas spirit— why he’s feeling so down? Arthur wouldn’t understand. Besides, there are more important things to think about right now. So, Merlin steps away from the counter and looks around the coffee shop, trying to come up with a plan.

“I need to close up,” Merlin ignores Arthur’s question. “We-we need to stay away from the windows,” he continues, thinking out loud. “We can go over there,” he finally suggests, pointing at a brown couch.

Tilting his head to the side, Arthur squints at it, probably pondering Merlin’s idea. Merlin knows it’s not ideal, the couch has seen better days but it’s more comfortable than it appears. More importantly, it’s the safest place that they have. It’s in the farthest corner away from the door, there are no windows near it, and if anything happens, the kitchen’s door is on the adjacent wall.

“That’s a good idea,” Arthur approves.

Arthur doesn’t insist and Merlin’s grateful for that. He doesn’t tease Merlin either, Arthur simply nods and starts clearing up the table which Merlin also appreciates. As much as he enjoys bantering with Arthur, he’s not in the mood for it right now.

*

Merlin closes up the coffee shop as fast as it can before the blizzard becomes too severe. Arthur turns his laptop off and puts his belongings back in his bag, while Merlin closes the door, cleans the dishes, wipes down the counters and tables, and closes the register. When he’s done, Merlin puts some leftover pastries on a plate for them to share and walks to the couch. There, he finds Arthur sitting down with his head resting on the backrest. Arthur is staring at the ceiling with a look Merlin’s never seen on his face. It’s something resembling melancholy that echoes his own sadness. What a pair the two of them make…

Shaking his head to stop the sadness from haunting his thoughts, Merlin sets the plate full of cookies, muffins, and other baked goods on the coffee table. He sits down next to Arthur with a sigh, silence settling between them while they both get lost in their thoughts.

Merlin doesn’t know long they stay like this—sitting next to each other in silence—but it feels nice. There’s something soothing and comforting about it, about being sad together. He knows it doesn’t fix anything, but at least it feels less lonely and it makes the sadness less overwhelming.

“I’m sorry your Christmas is ruined,” Arthur says, softly, breaking the silence.

Arthur’s already watching him, his gaze as soft as his voice when Merlin turns his head. Arthur’s head still rests on the back of the couch, his cheek pressed against it as he offers Merlin a smile.

“You must think I’m crazy,” Merlin chuckles. “I just… I don’t know, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Merlin,” Arthur starts with a playful smile that Merlin knows well. “I _know_ you’re crazy.”

A smile spreads across Merlin’s face. “You know what they say, it takes one to know one.”

Arthur sends Merlin a stern look that clashes with the smile that’s making his lips twitch. He might pretend not to be amused by their exchange, but Merlin knows he is. Merlin expects Arthur to retaliate with some taunting remark, or at least to roll his eyes, but Arthur doesn’t. He remains quiet and observes Merlin, his teasing smile turning soft. As Arthur studies his face, Merlin can feel his cheeks heating up again, but he forces himself not to look away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, anyway. Something in Arthur’s eyes has Merlin wanting to maintain eye contact, like a bond between their souls.

“Seriously, though,” Arthur begins, once again the one who breaks the silence. He nudges Merlin’s arm with his elbow before asking: “What _is it_ with you and Christmas?”

Merlin clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from Arthur’s eyes. “I just love it,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

The simple admission brings back memories of past Christmases to Merlin. Memories of a cold, tiny, apartment that didn’t even have a bedroom but was decorated with handmade things for Christmas, memories of singing and dancing to some Christmas song while baking cookies, memories of his mother’s smile. Those moments leave a bitter taste tonight, but Merlin refuses to go there. He shakes his head and hunches forward to grab a cookie in order to keep his hands busy.

“I bet you’ve always been on the nice list and Santa never forgot about you.”

Arthur laughs but it sounds wrong to Merlin. It’s not the slightly mocking laugh he’s used to, neither is it the genuine one Merlin’s had the chance to hear a few times. It’s dry and humorless, and it makes Merlin’s heart drop.

“Did-did that happen to you?” He asks, unsure.

Silence answers Merlin’s question; Arthur doesn’t reply. When Merlin looks over his shoulder, Arthur is looking at the ceiling again, avoiding Merlin’s eyes as he fidgets with his hands. Arthur seems miles away, stuck in one of his own memories—not a good one considering the sad yet angry look on his face— and Merlin wishes he could take the question back.

“Yeah,” Arthur eventually breathes out. His eyes meet Merlin’s again, and he offers him a sad smile. “I was five. My father was so busy with work that he forgot to get me a present and when I asked about it, he told me that I’d been naughty. He said that Santa must have thought I didn’t deserve a present and went back to work as if it wasn’t a big deal.”

As he explains what happened, Arthur’s sad smile disappears, replaced by a troubled expression that breaks Merlin’s heart. Now that he has an answer to his question, Merlin regrets it even more. What kind of parent does that? Says things like that to a five-year-old boy? Merlin can’t imagine how devastating that must have been for the poor little kid. No wonder Arthur doesn’t care about Christmas much.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin mutters, not knowing what else to say.

Arthur shrugs off Merlin’s compassion and pushes down his emotions. Merlin watches as it happens. Arthur’s shoulders go up and then down as a focused frown brings his eyebrows together. A few seconds later, Arthur offers Merlin a smile, acting as if nothing has happened. Merlin smiles back, pretending not to notice that Arthur’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Merlin knows that some things are better left forgotten, even when the person you’re trying to fool is yourself. To Arthur, Christmas seems to be one of those things.

Arthur’s frown turns into a mask of indifference and apathy as silence falls between them again, heavy and tense. Merlin quietly observes Arthur. Although his face looks blank and could convince Merlin that Arthur doesn’t actually care, his eyes tell Merlin another story. They’re shining with so much pain and heartbreak that Merlin feels like he shouldn’t be looking, like it’s something private he’s not supposed to witness. So, Merlin gives Arthur some privacy and looks away. He focuses his attention on the cookie in his hand, and despite the handful left on the plate, he breaks it in two. Merlin’s been taught that sometimes words aren’t enough and even the smallest gesture can make a person feel better, so he hands Arthur half of the cookie. He wishes he could do more but right now, Merlin doesn’t have a lot of options.

Merlin expects Arthur to comment on how the plate is full of baked goods or say something about how Merlin needs that cookie more than he does because he’s so lanky. But Arthur is full of surprises. Instead, Arthur cocks an eyebrow at Merlin then offers him a small smile as he accepts half of the cookie. He nods as a silent ‘thank you’ and takes a bite. Watching him, Merlin can’t help but grin at his success.

Satisfied, Merlin lets out a sigh. He leans back against the back of the couch and makes himself comfortable as he eats half of the cookie. It doesn’t take long for Arthur to get comfortable, too. Merlin watches Arthur’s fingers move as he loosens his tie, takes off his suit jacket, and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt. Once he’s done, he stands up briefly then sits back down on the couch, this time facing Merlin. Arthur tucks one of his legs under the other one and looks at Merlin, one of his elbows propped on top of the couch’s back and his head resting on his hand. A smile spreads across Merlin’s face as he stares back at Arthur. Ever since Merlin opened Albion, this is the most relaxed Arthur has ever looked, laid-back, yet so hot.

“I can understand why Christmas is so important,” Arthur starts, surprising Merlin by bringing back the topic he seemed so eager to avoid a few minutes ago. “But Christmas Eve?”

Hesitating, Merlin looks down at his hands. After what Arthur has told him, Merlin doesn’t want to rub into Arthur’s face what a great time the holidays have always been for him. When he glances up at Arthur and finds him waiting with genuine curiosity and interest, Merlin decides to answer Arthur’s question, earnestly. Arthur seems to really be trying to understand, so why not.

“Christmas Eve is actually my favorite day,” Merlin confesses as he moves to sit in a more comfortable position, facing Arthur.

“Are you one of those weirdos who open presents at midnight?” Arthur smiles, teasingly.

Merlin shakes his head no, feeling his lips twitch. “It’s not about the presents,” he explains. “I usually spend the day with my mom, and we do all kinds of things.”

“Like what?” Arthur frowns in confusion, and Merlin tries to ignore the way it makes his heart clench with sadness.

“Like Christmassy things,” Merlin replies with a shrug. “We bake cookies, drink eggnog, watch holiday movies… we just spend the day together, and we do things together.”

The small smile that tugs at the corners of Arthur’s lips is the saddest one Merlin’s ever seen. For a short while—so short Merlin thinks he imagines it—Arthur’s mask cracks, revealing a deep and profound wound that somehow feels familiar to Merlin. The urge to get closer to Arthur is too strong for Merlin to resist it, so he moves on the couch but still keeps a safe distance between them. When Merlin looks at Arthur, he expects his face to be expressionless again. But, it’s worse than that, Arthur is smiling. Merlin can’t help but wonder if Arthur’s smiles have always looked so fake. Did Merlin somehow not notice before?

“It sounds nice,” Arthur smiles but his voice sounds weak.

Merlin hums, his eyes settling on his hands on the couch, so close to Arthur’s. Arthur is fidgeting with his fingers, twisting and tugging at them. There’s something so heartbreaking in Arthur’s voice. The way he’s sitting here, looking so sad and so small, and how hard he’s trying to hide his emotions. It reminds Merlin that Christmastime might be a happy time for him, but it isn’t for everyone. Sighing, Merlin looks up from Arthur’s hands to meet his eyes, but Arthur’s vacantly staring at the plate on the coffee table.

“My mom…” Arthur starts, but he stops to clear his throat. “She died giving birth to me and my father focused on his work to ignore the pain. We were related by blood, but we were never a family, and we never did things _together_. You’re lucky, Merlin.”

“I know,” Merlin mutters.

Merlin _is_ lucky, deep down he’s always known that. Hunith is the best parent he could have imagined, but she’s the only one he has. So, even though he didn’t go through the same thing as Arthur, Merlin can relate to his heartbreak. He knows what it feels like, the emptiness in one’s heart because of a parent’s absence. She never really talked about Merlin’s father, so he doesn’t know much about him or what happened, but he does know that he _decided_ to leave, to abandon them— _him_.

It’s kind of funny— in a sad and bitter kind of way—how two similar backgrounds can lead to two different lives, can shape two different people.

Breathing heavily, Merlin turns around and sits on the couch with his feet on the floor. He leans forward and grabs a muffin, taking his time to pick at the paper, resting his elbows on his knees as he thinks. It’s been a while since Merlin has thought about his father.

“I’ve never met my father,” Merlin confides, not sure why. Maybe because Arthur makes him feel like he can. Arthur just did the same thing, opened up to him. “I know it’s not the same thing, and I’m truly sorry for your loss but—” Merlin stops mid-sentence, shrugging. “It’s always been my mom and me, just the two of us, so not being with her this year…it feels so wrong. She’s the one who made me believe in the magic of Christmas, even when you don’t get presents. I got my Christmas spirit from her. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day have always been special.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything but Merlin hears him sigh heavily. Merlin winces, regretting his words. Arthur just told him that his mother is dead and here he is, talking about all of this again. Merlin is being sad and pathetic about missing one Christmas Eve with his mom when Arthur didn’t even get the opportunity to spend any with his own.

“I’m sorry, I—” Merlin starts but Arthur cuts him off.

“Merlin,” Arthur says softly, his tone ominous.

More than see him, Merlin feels Arthur move beside him, his attention a fixed point on the muffin. The couch shifts under Arthur’s weight, and Merlin feels the warmth coming from his body Arthur’s thigh pressed against his.

“I told you,” Arthur sighs, taking the muffin from Merlin’s hands. “Sadness doesn’t look good on you,” he adds, gently bumping his shoulder into Merlin’s.

Before Merlin can speak or move, Arthur’s hand appears in front of him, offering half of the muffin. Merlin takes it as evidence that Arthur knows what sharing the cooking meant. He’s trying to do the same with the muffin now. The simple gesture, the silent comfort in it, brings a smile on Merlin’s face. It soothes his heart and worries a little bit, and he gladly accepts it. He grins at Arthur, taking his part of the muffin, and shoves it in his mouth, as Arthur rolls his eyes.

“I have an idea,” Arthur declares, once his half of the muffin is gone.

Merlin squints at him suspiciously, his smile turning into a playful one. “Should I be worried? I feel like I should be. I _am_ worried.”

“Fine,” Arthur leans back against the couch and crosses his arms across his chest, despite the smile on his face. “Let’s be sad and miserable on Christmas Eve. For someone who loves this day so much, your Christmas spirit is weak, Merlin.”

Merlin turns to face Arthur, faking a gasp. “Are you doubting _my_ Christmas spirit?”

“What if I am?” Arthur cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’m wearing a Christmas sweater!” Merlin reminds Arthur.

“Yes, and it’s ugly,” Arthur snorts.

“At least it’s warm and comfortable,” Merlin points out. “Unlike your shirt. It looks like it’s about to rip. Did you get the wrong size?”

“Are you saying that I’m fat?”

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe you should slow down with the chocolate muffins,” he advises. Arthur looks sharp, fit, and muscular but Merlin can’t resist teasing him.

“I’m not fat! This is what it looks like to have muscles,” Arthur flexes his arm to support his claim.

Laughing, Merlin leans back. He rests his head on the back of the coach and looks at Arthur with genuine curiosity.

“So, what’s your brilliant idea?”

“Oh, now you want to know,” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“I never said I didn’t want to know,” Merlin shrugs.

“Fine,” Arthur acquiesces, his lips twitching. “When I was a kid, Christmas was all about my father networking; hosting parties and charity events. Everything had to be perfect, so the Christmas tree and the house were decorated by professional decorators, the cookies were made by bakers... Well, you get the picture,” he concludes with a dismissive hand wave. “So, I was thinking that maybe we could do some of the things you usually do with your mom. I know it won't be the same, I'm not your mom, but we're going to be here for a while, so...”

Arthur's shrug is nonchalant, but his eyes betray his genuine interest. So, Merlin doesn't hesitate, Arthur’s suggestion instantly lifting his spirits. While it's true that it won't be the same as spending time with his mom and Merlin’s unable to make up for years of not-so-festive Christmases, he’s willing to share some of his Christmas spirit with Arthur; to show him what Christmas is really about.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks Arthur, interested.

“I don't know,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re the expert.”

“Okay...” Merlin looks around him, thinking. When his eyes land on his sweater, he knows exactly where to start. “I have a condition, though,” he looks at Arthur with a wicked smile.

“What did I get myself into?” Arthur mutters. “What is it?”

Merlin holds a finger up to tell Arthur to wait, then takes his sweater off, leaving him in the turtleneck underneath. “You have to wear my ugly sweater.”

*

Not only does Arthur agree to wear the sweater, and he’s loving it—not just the sweater, but all of it. The curious, happy light that’s shining in Arthur’s eyes doesn’t lie: Arthur is enjoying himself. So, he might complain about the sweater being itchy and too tight, or comment on decorating a tree that was already decorated before Merlin took off the ornaments, garlands, and lights to put them back on together with Arthur. He might even frown when the fourth version of _Jingle Bells_ starts playing on his laptop, courtesy to Merlin’s Christmas playlist, but Merlin doesn’t care. He agreed to all of this for Arthur more than himself, determined to share his Christmas spirit, and he _knows_ it’s working. He can tell just by looking at Arthur. 

There's a soft, satisfied smile on Arthur's face when he puts the star on top of the tree. He moans when he takes his first sip of the hot chocolate they made together in the kitchen, and he even hums along to _Let It Snow_.

Merlin’s having a good time as well. Sure, he still wishes he was with his mother, but it could be worse. Besides, there’s something about sharing his traditions with someone else, sharing something meaningful, intimate, and kind of magical. After all, this is what Christmas is about, isn’t it? It brings people together, and sometimes, it does so in an unexpected way. Arthur’s a stranger, an acquaintance, at best, yet as time passes, it feels like they’re becoming something more. Merlin isn’t sure _what_ they’re becoming yet, but he feels close to him. It’s like a bond, strong and deep. Merlin has no clue if Arthur can feel it too, but he hopes that he does.

Yet another version of _Jingle Bells_ is echoing in the coffee shop’s kitchen, and a delicious cinnamon smell is floating in the air, when Merlin realizes that Arthur has been silent for a long while. Although it’s a comfortable silence, Merlin can’t resist the urge to look up from the delicate blue snowflake made of salt dough to glance at Arthur. For someone who complained about how childish Merlin’s suggestion was, he’s taking this very seriously. Merlin finds Arthur with a deep, focused frown on his face as his attention is focused on his own creation.

Merlin thought a lot about this particular tradition, about whether he wanted to share it or not. Making Christmas ornaments with salt dough is, by far, the dearest tradition to Merlin’s heart. His mother started it when he was just a baby, gently pressing Merlin’s tiny hands onto heart-shaped ornaments, and they kept making new ones every year. She kept them all and when Merlin moved out, she gave him the ornaments she had made over the years, keeping all of the ones made by Merlin for herself.

Merlin never needed any object to remind him of Christmas, his memories were enough, but something tells him that Arthur might need it. He wants Arthur to keep something more than memories of tonight, he wants him to have a reminder of what Christmas should be like, what it _can_ be.

Tearing his gaze away from Arthur, Merlin looks down at the salt dough in front of him. Arthur never struck him as a creative or hands-on person, but this is way worse than what Merlin expected. It looks like…nothing. Merlin bites his lips, trying to muffle a laugh.

“What is that supposed to be?” He asks, doing his best not to laugh.

Arthur’s eyebrows move, but he doesn’t answer right away. He keeps kneading the dough, obviously trying to give it a shape, and failing. It just looks like a lopsided ball, too sticky because Arthur added too much water. However, Arthur seems satisfied with it and puts it on top of what seems to be two other balls, which are also too sticky. When Merlin told him to use water to glue the different parts together, he didn't mean to soak them in water.

“It’s a snowman,” Arthur announces with an adorable, proud smile.

“A _snowman…_?” Merlin repeats, squinting at the thing in hopes of seeing it. He doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Arthur replies, wiping down his hands on a cloth. “That’s the body, here’s the head, and that’s the hat,” he explains in a serious tone.

Arthur looks so proud of himself and so cute, that Merlin doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He remembers all the weirdly shaped stars and wonky gingerbread men his mom hangs on her Christmas tree every year. Arthur never had that.

“I can see it now,” Merlin lies.

“No, you can’t,” Arthur argues with a knowing smile.

“It does look like a snowman,” Merlin insists with determination. “One that’s started to melt,” he can’t help but add.

Arthur scoffs, ready to protest. However, he stays silent and looks between the snowman and Merlin. After a little while, his eyes stay on Merlin, and he bursts out laughing.

“You’re right,” he admits, out of breath. “But it’s your fault!”

“How is that my fault?” Merlin asks, squinting.

“It was fine until you told me to use water,” Arthur explains with a shrug.

“I never told you to drown that poor snowman,” Merlin protests, shaking his head in disbelief. “You were supposed to use a few drops so it would stick!”

“And, how was I supposed to know that?” Arthur cocks an eyebrow at Merlin.

“You-I-I,” Merlin stutters, realizing that Arthur is right. “You just needed to add more flour to fix it! That’s like basic baking!”

“Oh, more flour,” Arthur sends the snowman a focused look that slowly changes into a mischievous one. “More flour, uh?”

“Yes, more fl—”

Merlin doesn’t finish his sentence, his words strangled by a surprised yelp as a cloud of flour flies around him. Dumbfounded, Merlin looks down at his turtleneck with his mouth agape, then back up at Arthur. He finds Arthur watching him with a grin, flour covering his hand. Merlin huffs, somewhat shocked, but equally amused. He can’t believe Arthur just threw flour at him.

“What—”

“More flour, Merlin,” Arthur answers before Merlin can finish his question. “More. Flour,” he repeats, eyeing the bowl of flour suspiciously.

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin warns Arthur, reaching for the bowl, too.

Their hands bump and Arthur uses his free hand to hold Merlin’s wrist, stopping him from grabbing the flour. Merlin tries to throw Arthur off balance by hitting his side, but Arthur barely budges. Out of options, Merlin has no choice but to watch helplessly as Arthur sprinkles some flour onto his head.

“Aw, Merlin,” Arthur coos, setting Merlin’s wrist free. “You look like a _beautiful_ snow angel,” he marvels and Merlin takes advantage of the distraction, grabbing a handful of flour. “One with very pointy bones.”

While Arthur rubs the spot on his side that Merlin hit with his elbow, Merlin doesn’t waste a second. He rubs his hands together to spread the dry powder, so it’ll stick better on Arthur’s face when he wipes a hand on his face. However, Merlin wasn’t planning on Arthur’s reflexes being so good. Arthur jumps away just as Merlin’s finger touches his cheek, leaving a white spot there.

“Are you looking for a war?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who started it,” Merlin shrugs, his eyes flickering between Arthur and the bowl. He’s closer to it than Arthur, so if he times it wisely, he can take the upper hand.

“You should run,” Arthur advises with a threatening voice that clashes with his boyish smile.

Merlin stubbornly shakes his head, instead taking a step towards Arthur. “I’m not a coward.”

“Then, you shall die with dignity,” Arthur announces, taking Merlin by surprise by throwing more flour at him.

Consternation and a thick cloud of flour almost ruin Merlin’s plan. He sneezes, making Arthur laugh, then grabs the half-empty bowl while Arthur’s distracted. When he notices the bowl in Merlin’s hands, Arthur immediately takes a step back, tilting his head to the side.

“Merlin,” he says, taking another step back. “Drop your weapon.”

“That's not how a war works,” Merlin points out, shaking his head. Closing the distance separating them, Merlin dips his fingers into the flour. When he’s close enough, he draws a white line on Arthur’s forehead. “Do you surrender?” 

“Never,” Arthur stubbornly declares.

Before Merlin can stop him, Arthur takes some flour out of the bowl and throws it right into Merlin’s face. Merlin sneezes again and this time, he runs. He goes in circles around the stainless steel kitchen while Arthur chases him, laughing, and Merlin can’t help but laugh too. After a few minutes, the bowl is empty. There’s more flour on the floor than on either of them, but Merlin doesn’t care. He keeps running and Arthur keeps chasing him, both out of breath from laughing so much.

Eventually, Arthur catches up to Merlin. Merlin’s distracted by yet another sneeze when he feels strong arms around his waist, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on the floor, pinned down by Arthur’s body. Trying to get free, Merlin wiggles under Arthur as the man spreads the flour across his face and turtleneck. Once he’s done, Arthur looks down at Merlin with a satisfied smile, then rolls off of Merlin to lie down next to him.

“You fought well,” Arthur admits, out of breath from laughing so hard.

Merlin turns his head towards him and cocks an eyebrow. “Who says I’m done fighting?”

Merlin acts quickly, not leaving time for Arthur to say anything. He sits up then settles himself on top of Arthur, straddling him. Taking advantage of Arthur’s surprise, he shakes his head, freeing the flour stuck in his hair.

“That—” Arthur coughs. “That’s not fair!”

“I never said that I fight fairly,” Merlin points out, smiling down at Arthur.

“I hate you,” Arthur states with a sigh.

Merlin doesn’t believe him. Despite his words, Arthur’s smiling broadly and there’s not a hint of animosity or hate in his eyes, just amusement, and playfulness.

“You don’t,” Merlin argues. “You’re just a sore loser.”

“You’re right,” Arthur’s smile turns soft, almost fond, as he stares into Merlin’s eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

As he looks into Arthur’s eyes, drowning in them as his words hang in the air, Merlin feels warmth spreading across his body, and he knows he’s blushing. If he saw Arthur as a ‘decent guy’ before, he knows that Arthur is so much more than that now. Underneath his pretentious act, Arthur is kind, funny, and smart. He has a heart of gold—after all, he is doing all of this for _Merlin_. 

Merlin tries to tell himself that it doesn’t mean anything, but he’s too far gone now. His physical attraction to Arthur has turned into something more.

Merlin’s train of thought is interrupted by the beeping of the timer, loud and strident. Startled, he clears his throat then looks up and glances around him. It takes Merlin a few seconds to realize that the cookies are still in the oven and the beeping means it’s time to take them out. Merlin reluctantly stands up with a sigh and holds out his hands to Arthur.

“You shall live,” he decides, while Arthur takes his hand and Merlin helps him up. “For now,” he adds over his shoulder, walking towards the oven.

“You’re too kind,” Arthur says, sarcastically. “Thank you for showing me mercy,” he continues as Merlin turns the timer off.

Shaking his head at Arthur, Merlin opens the oven and takes the baking tray out. While he puts it down on the worktop, Arthur closes the oven’s door, then joins Merlin.

“They smell delicious,” Arthur marvels, reaching out to take a star-shaped cookie.

“We have to clean up and bake the salt dough first,” Merlin chides, smacking Arthur’s hand with the oven mitten.

Arthur sighs and turns around to glare at the snowman he’s made. “Why would you want to bake that monstrosity?” He asks with a frown. “It belongs in the trash, it’s ugly.”

“Who cares?” Merlin shrugs, putting the cookies on a plate. “You made it, and it doesn’t look so bad.”

“It does,” Arthur argues while Merlin walks to the other worktop. “You shouldn’t bake it.”

“I am,” Merlin insists, putting the snowman on a baking tray. “It’ll be something to remember today by.”

Arthur scoffs. “I’m not taking this home nor letting anyone else see it.”

“Then, I will,” Merlin declares, turning around to look at Arthur. “Take it home with me, I mean.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Arthur looks genuinely confused, glancing between the snowman and Merlin. _Everything had to be perfect_ , Merlin remembers Arthur saying, and he understands Arthur a little bit better thanks to that information alone. Something tells him that doesn't just apply to Christmas decorations, but rather that's what has been expected from Arthur his entire life: perfection. Merlin realizes that he might not care that Arthur's creation looks like some weird blob of salt dough, but Arthur does.

“Because,” Merlin starts, putting the other ornaments on the baking tray. “Because I want to remember this. I want to remember how we turned this crappy day into something… special.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered that you want to keep what I made, or offended that you’ll need an ugly snowman to remember,” Arthur wonders.

Once their creations are on the tray—all of them made by Merlin, except the snowman—Merlin turns around again. Arthur is leaning against the worktop, looking at Merlin with a soft expression on his face which is still covered with flour. Merlin can’t help but notice how good softness looks on Arthur; the relaxed jaw and gentleness of it all do things to Merlin. He suspects that not a lot of people—if any—get to see Arthur like this, somehow vulnerable. Before he knows it, his mind won’t slow down, overwhelmed by questions and doubts.

Is this going to change anything or will they just go back to the way they were before as if nothing happened? Merlin might be realizing that he has a crush on Arthur but what does he want? Does he want things to change? Does he want something more than polite smiles and fun banter? Can he even hope for more than that?

What about Arthur? What does _he_ want?

*

As they clean the kitchen and try to get rid of the flour on themselves, Merlin decides to ignore his worries, focusing on the moment and the time he gets to spend with Arthur. When they’re done, both of them are exhausted. Although flour has stopped flying around them every time they move, they’re still mostly covered in it, white lines and powder covering their clothes.

Outside, the blizzard hasn’t calmed, strong winds and snow still making it impossible to see anything. After taking out the salt dough from the oven, Merlin steps into the front room, with the plate with the cookies they baked in his hands. Merlin shivers, surprised by the obvious difference in temperature. For a second, Merlin regrets giving his sweater to Arthur, but he changes his mind when his eyes settle on the man. Arthur is curled up on the couch, looking down at the sweater with a smile, poking at the red pompom that serves as the reindeer’s nose.

“My sweater isn’t that ugly, is it?” Merlin asks with a smile. He puts the plate down on the coffee table, next to Arthur’s laptop that displays a streaming website, waiting for them to pick a movie.

Arthur jumps and his head shoots up. There’s a soft blush to his cheeks and an embarrassed look on his face that Merlin finds hilarious. Arthur looks like a little kid caught red-handed stealing candies, but he quickly regains composure and rolls his eyes at Merlin.

“It’s comfy,” Arthur admits, moving to grab a cookie. “But—”

“Say it’s cute,” Merlin cuts him off.

He pushes the plate out of Arthur’s reach and sits on the coffee table, cocking an eyebrow at Arthur. Sitting up with a sigh, Arthur faces Merlin. He traps Merlin’s legs between his own, trying to grab a cookie from the plate Merlin is hiding behind his back. After a few seconds, Arthur is lying on Merlin’s lap, his head so close to Merlin’s chest that it’s bumped it a few times.

“I just want a cookie,” Arthur grumbles, looking up at Merlin.

“Then admit that my sweater is cute,” Merlin insists.

Deep down, Merlin doesn’t care whether Arthur likes his sweater or not, he already knows he does like it anyway, but he wants to hear it from Arthur. It’s more than just teasing, and Merlin can’t even explain it to himself, but it feels somehow important.

“Fine, it’s _cute…_ ” Arthur sighs, his eyes fixated on Merlin’s. “On you,” he adds with a smile.

“You—” Merlin barely hears himself say, his words muffled by his pounding heart. “T-that’s—”

Arthur takes advantage of Merlin’s fluster to grab a cookie while Merlin sits there, his cheeks probably as red as the pompom on the sweater. Merlin clears his throat and tries to stop Arthur but it’s too late. The man’s already sitting on the couch with a cookie in his hand and a knowing smile on his face. It takes a while, but Merlin’s heartbeat returns to normal and his brain starts functioning again. Merlin feels stupid for being so affected by something so insignificant, but he decides to ignore it.

“These are so good,” Arthur moans, chewing. “I can’t believe I made them.”

Merlin huffs and cocks an eyebrow at him. “ _You_ made them?”

“Fine,” Arthur rolls his eyes and bites into the cookie, waiting until he’s finished chewing to add, “ _we_ made them.” 

“That’s not how I remember it,” Merlin tilts his head to the side and squints. “I remember baking and you were just standing there looking at me doing all of the hard work.”

“I helped!” Arthur protests before throwing the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

Merlin makes a face, Arthur did try to help but that didn’t go very well. Merlin sighs as he settles beside Arthur on the couch. He grabs a cookie and starts browsing through the Christmas movies available.

“You handed me icing sugar instead of flour,” Merlin reminds Arthur, pausing to take a bite of his cookie. “I had to throw away everything and start over.”

“You should have paid more attention,” Arthur defends himself, looking over Merlin’s shoulder. “I—please, Merlin, not some stupid romantic comedy,” he cuts his former sentence off when he glances at the options.

“I know what I’m doing,” Merlin insists, nudging Arthur with his elbow.

“It’s your fault if you had to start the dough over,” Arthur circles back to the previous subject. “I know nothing about baking.”

“I noticed,” Merlin laughs.

Arthur replies to Merlin’s teasing with a huff, then a gentle smack on his arm. Focused on finding a movie, Merlin acts without thinking and retaliates. He absentmindedly grabs the pillow to his right and throws it at Arthur, his eyes never leaving the laptop’s screen.

“Did you just—” Arthur sneers, but Merlin interrupts him, shushing him. “Merlin,” he whines.

“Ah!” Merlin exclaims when he finds the movie he was looking for: _A Wonderful Life_. His mom’s favorite and one of Merlin’s too. “What?” He asks, turning towards Arthur.

“You threw a pillow at me!” Arthur complains, hitting Merlin with the pillow.

“Stop it!” Merlin orders as Arthur keeps hitting him.

When Arthur doesn’t listen to him, Merlin snatches the pillow from his hands. He presses play to start the movie and settles on the couch, hugging the pillow. Next to him, Arthur grumbles something about Merlin being no fun, then gets comfortable. He grabs the plate of cookies as he toes off his shoes then puts his feet on the coffee table.

A few minutes into the movie, Merlin finds his position not as comfortable as he thought and moves. He scoots closer to Arthur— probably too close but Merlin’s too tired to care—and rests his head on the man’s shoulder. Merlin feels Arthur’s body tense up, and for a second he thinks he crossed a line he shouldn’t have, but then Arthur lets out a long, deep sigh and relaxes. Arthur’s body is warm and comfortable next to him and as the movie continues, Merlin feels his eyelids getting heavier. However, Merlin stubbornly fights sleep, not ready for all of this to end just yet.

“Why are Christmas movies always so sad?” Arthur sighs after a while, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Merlin slowly lifts his head to look at Arthur and finds Arthur focused on the movie. He looks as exhausted as Merlin feels, with his hooded eyes and his hair sticking up in every direction. Arthur looks so soft that Merlin can’t resist the urge to snuggle closer.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin whispers. “It gets better and everything's good at the end.”

“Thanks to Christmas magic or some angel trying to earn their wings,” Arthur says, and Merlin can hear the exasperation in his voice. Merlin’s heart sinks with disappointment. “From my experience, this is all fiction. There’s no magic, angels aren’t real, and stuff doesn’t just fall into place because it’s Christmas. It doesn’t make people realize that they’ve been mean and focusing on work instead of more important things, making them decide to completely change their lives. It certainly doesn’t bring families together.”

“It doesn’t always bring families together,” Merlin admits, looking back at the screen. He still remembers all those years he hoped a Christmas miracle would bring his father, in vain. “Sometimes, it does bring people together, though.”

Merlin’s head goes up then down as Arthur sighs heavily. When Merlin looks up at Arthur, he finds the man’s eyes on him, shining with something Merlin can’t place. Arthur’s eyes have never looked so blue.

“It did bring us together this year,” Arthur concedes with a tired smile.

Merlin smiles back at Arthur, struggling to keep his eyes open. As much as he loves Christmas, he knows there’s nothing magic about everything that’s happened tonight, but he does believe it was meant to be. Some would claim it’s only a coincidence, others might say it’s fate.

Now that he thinks about it, it all looks a lot like a Christmas movie. Two people, who at first glance don’t have anything in common—one who lacks Christmas spirit, the other who probably has too much— bonding over Christmas activities. Merlin has seen that movie before, multiple versions of it, actually, so he knows how it ends. It usually involves a kiss under the mistletoe, the start of a new relationship that’s full of promise. But this is real life, not a Christmas movie, so Merlin doesn’t let his hopes get too high. All that will be left of this night are memories and salt dough ornaments.

“I’m glad it did,” Arthur admits when Merlin stays silent for too long.

“Me too,” Merlin sighs, closing his eyes.

If Arthur adds anything, Merlin doesn’t hear it. He falls asleep, snuggled closed against Arthur’s side, feeling happy and content.

*

Warm morning light is shining through the coffee shop window when Merlin’s eyes flutter open. A smile spreads across his face as the sleepy fog around his brain lifts and memories of the previous night come back to him. The blizzard, decorating the tree, baking cookies, drinking hot chocolate, the Christmas traditions and fun banter, the long glances, and _Arthur_. Christmas Eve ended on a high note, thanks to Arthur, saving Merlin’s day.

When he snaps back to the present by the dragging sound of a snowplow, the first thing Merlin notices is that he’s moved while he was sleeping. He’s still snuggled against Arthur, but his head is now resting on Arthur’s chest and a strong arm is holding him closely. Usually, Merlin is a morning person, but not today. This morning feels like the end of something, and Merlin isn’t ready for it. He doesn’t want whatever is going on between him and Arthur to end, he doesn’t want Arthur to leave. Of course, Merlin knows that it’s going to happen soon, but if he can enjoy Arthur’s presence a little bit longer, he will.

When he looks up, Merlin is surprised to find Arthur’s eyes open. There’s a serious look on his face as Arthur stares vacantly at the Christmas tree they decorated together, lost in his thoughts. Merlin stays as immobile as he can and observes Arthur with a heavy heart. More than serious, Arthur looks sad: his lips are pressed together, forming a thin line turned downward, the inner corner of his eyebrows are raised, and his breathing is shallow and quick. Somehow, Arthur looks even sadder than he did the day before when he told Merlin about his mother and Merlin can’t breathe for a second, torn between worry and the overwhelming desire to help. The look on Arthur’s face is so heartbreaking and his sadness so strong, that Merlin feels it inside his own body, clenching his insides and tearing his heart apart.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin can’t help but ask, his voice hoarse, though he’s unsure if it’s from the grogginess of sleep or the lump that’s suddenly formed, making it hard to swallow.

His question startles Arthur, making him jump slightly and blink a few times before looking down at Merlin.

“Nothing,” Arthur replies with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

The mask of indifference and apathy is back on his face, but Merlin sees through it. While Arthur’s words tell a lie to Merlin, his body doesn’t. Merlin doesn’t know if it’s intentional or not—and he doesn’t care—but Arthur’s hold around his shoulders tightens, bringing Merlin even closer to him. There’s something desperate in the way Arthur holds him that surprises Merlin as much as it breaks his heart.

There _is_ something wrong, Merlin can tell—he can feel it. However, Arthur clearly doesn’t want to talk about it and Merlin won’t force him. Instead, he slides one of his arms between the couch and Arthur’s back while his other arm rests on Arthur’s belly. As he holds Arthur tightly, Merlin hopes Arthur understands it’s his way of being there for him, whatever he needs.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in heavy silence. Merlin closes his eyes, losing himself in Arthur’s embrace and the warmth of his body, as Arthur breathes deeply.

“Merry Christmas,” Arthur whispers into Merlin’s hair.

Although he breaks the silence, Arthur doesn’t move to let go of Merlin. In fact, his freehand joins the other one on Merlin’s back, drawing abstract shapes on his turtleneck. The soft and gentle contact makes goosebumps bloom on Merlin’s skin and butterflies in his stomach. If it was up to Merlin, they’d stay like this all day. But they can’t, so Merlin enjoys it while it lasts, ignoring the doubts that are creeping up on him. Sighing contentedly Merlin lifts his head and meets Arthur’s eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles. When Arthur yawns, Merlin chuckles. “Coffee?” 

To his surprise, Arthur shakes his head no and holds Merlin closer. “Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

“Okay,” Merlin agrees, settling his head back on Arthur’s chest. “You do make a comfortable pillow.”

“I knew it,” Arthur laughs, the sound vibrating inside his chest. “You only like me for my body.”

“I never said I _like_ you,” Merlin points out with a teasing smile, even though Arthur can’t see it. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to protect himself. The truth is that he does like Arthur, but he has no idea if Arthur feels the same, and he wouldn’t survive the embarrassment if he didn’t.

“You don’t have to,” Arthur shrugs, and Merlin lifts his head to squint at him. “I already know you do.”

Merlin’s heart skips a beat as he wonders if Arthur is just messing with him or if he really knows. Is Merlin that easy to read? What if he is? What if Arthur really knows? Chasing those questions away with a shake of his head, Merlin scoffs.

“You’re so full of yourself,” he rolls his eyes.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur starts, gently poking Merlin’s ribs.

“Stop it,” Merlin grumbles, squirming away to sit at the other end of the couch.

Of course, Arthur ignores him and moves closer. “You can admit it,” he continues, poking Merlin’s side again. “You like me. I get it, I’m irresistible. I’m handsome, charming and—”

“Cocky, bad at baking, emotionally constipated, and you snore,” Merlin interrupts him.

“I don’t snore,” Arthur argues with a frown. He stops pressing his finger on Merlin’s side and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yes you do,” Merlin insists with a nod. “It was so loud that the walls were shaking and I thought it was an earthquake.”

“I hate you,” Arthur complains, pouting.

Merlin can’t help but smile at Arthur’s childish attitude. He doesn’t believe that Arthur hates him for a second, but that doesn’t mean he likes him either. Yet Merlin needs to know, he’s dying to know. Of course, he’s scared it won’t turn out the way he hopes for, but Merlin quickly thinks of a way to test the waters, using Arthur’s words.

“No you don’t,” Merlin states, propping himself on his knees on the couch. “You. Like. Me,” Merlin continues, poking Arthur’s cheek with his finger between each word. “I get it, I’m irresistible. I’m handsome, charm—”

A pillow hits Merlin’s face before he even realizes it’s been thrown at him, cutting his sentence short. Surprised, Merlin watches it falling onto the couch with his mouth agape. When he looks up, he finds a smug smile on Arthur’s face.

“You’re annoying, you like Christmas way too much and…” Arthur trails off, studying Merlin’s face. “And your ears look ridiculous!”

“My—” Merlin scoffs. It might not be an answer, not even a hint about how Arthur feels about him but at least he got Arthur to smile.

Grinning, Merlin grabs the pillow and attacks Arthur with it. It hits Arthur’s chest instead of his face, but Merlin accepts it. He flashes Arthur a smug smile before getting to his feet and walking towards the front of the coffee shop. Seconds before he can turn to slip behind the counter, something hits Merlin’s back.

When he turns around, Merlin isn’t surprised to find the pillow at his feet and an unconvincing mask of innocence on Arthur’s face. Shaking his head, he crouches down to pick up the pillow and throws it back at Arthur. Before Arthur can retaliate, Merlin disappears behind the wall.

Merlin smiles in victory as he hears Arthur grumble while he turns one of the coffee machines on. He’s grinding coffee beans for two espressos when Arthur joins him, surprising Merlin by walking behind the counter.

“I’ve always wondered how all of this works,” Arthur says, looking around him with curiosity. “I don’t even know the name of most of those things.”

“Are you thinking about a career change?” Merlin asks, putting two small cups on the counter.

“Sometimes I do,” Arthur confesses with a shrug. “My job pays well, but I can’t say I love it.”

“And yet, once you’re done there,” Merlin starts, nodding at the building across the street. “You come here and you keep working.”

“Believe it or not, most days it’s the best option I have,” Arthur’s tone his flat, the mask is back. However, it doesn’t stay on for long. “Besides, I like the company here.”

While the coffee machine heats up, Merlin turns to face Arthur. Arthur’s standing close, looking at him with a big genuine smile that brings back the butterflies in Merlin’s stomach. Arthur looks like he means it with his intimate smile, soft eyes, and faint blush, and although Merlin doesn’t want to read too much into it, maybe this is the hint he was hoping for. As they stare into each other’s eyes, Merlin finds the courage to take a step forward, caught up in the moment and his heart full of hope. At first, Arthur doesn’t move but then, he clears his throat and looks away. Just like that, the moment is gone and so are Merlin’s hopes.

Minutes later, they’re sitting at the booth Arthur usually occupies alone. Their coffees are long gone and neither one of them has touched their breakfast, simply sitting here in silence. Since last night, there’s been a lot of silence, some easy and comfortable, others heavy and tense, but this one feels different. It’s overwhelming, charged with sadness, and full of unspoken words—at least it is on Merlin’s side. He wishes he could tell Arthur how he feels, or at least voice his worries, but he doesn’t have it in him to speak up. He doesn’t want to scare Arthur away and never see him again.

It’s frustrating because a part of Merlin is convinced that if he does it, if he takes that leap of faith, it can lead to something amazing. Through the night, Merlin got to know Arthur a little bit better and sure Arthur is far from perfect, but so is Merlin. Merlin knows he’s got a lot left to learn about Arthur, but he’s certain he wants to get to know Arthur more. He wants to learn about his flaws and qualities, his weaknesses and strengths, and he doesn’t want this night to be meaningless or pretend that it never happened.

“Don’t think too much, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice snaps Merlin out of his head. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Blinking, Merlin looks up from his empty cup of coffee and frowns at Arthur. Despite his smile, Merlin can tell that Arthur’s teasing is forced. Arthur’s heart isn’t in it, and Merlin himself doesn’t feel like teasing Arthur back. The time they spent together clearly changed something between them—Merlin can feel it, and he knows that Arthur can too— but Merlin isn’t sure what it’s changed, and whether it’s a good or bad thing. He can’t help but wonder, if instead of bringing them together, the blizzard or Christmas drove them apart somehow.

“I, um, I guess I should go…” Arthur declares in a weak voice.

Looking outside the window, Arthur looks as hesitant as he sounds. Despite his statement, he doesn’t move towards the door and stays where he is. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to leave, like he wants to stay here with Merlin.

“The roads are safe?” Merlin asks, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Yeah,” Arthur answers, looking down at his coffee cup then up at Merlin. “They have been for hours,” he announces in a small voice that makes him sound ashamed. “I should have said something sooner.”

“Why?” Merlin cocks an eyebrow at him and forces a smile. “Can’t wait to get rid of me?” 

Arthur sighs heavily and turns his head towards the window, sadly looking at the road outside.

“Sure, my empty apartment is so much more pleasant than your company,” Arthur says in a sharp, sarcastic tone that’s miles away from the usual light and fun teasing. “I just don’t want to hold you back, you must look forward to finally getting home and meeting with your mom.”

_Mom_! Merlin was so focused on Arthur that his mother somehow slipped his mind. It's not like he has entirely forgotten about her—he could never—but he’s seeing things differently now. After the previous night, Merlin realizes that missing one Christmas wouldn't be that bad, especially if it's to spend it with Arthur. No one should be alone on Christmas and if Merlin doesn't show up at his mom’s she'd still have Gaius, but Arthur...

“You’re going to spend Christmas alone…”

“It won’t be the first time, I’m okay,” Arthur shrugs. “After all, it’s just a day like any other.”

Arthur stands up and walks to the couch before Merlin can say anything. Merlin isn’t sure why he puts himself through this, but he quietly follows Arthur. Leaning against the wall next to the kitchen door, he watches him getting ready to leave, helpless to stop it. Arthur doesn’t look at Merlin once as he turns his laptop off then puts it in his bag, his face blank and emotionless. This time, Merlin can’t see through Arthur’s mask, and his heart aches for him. Arthur’s closed up as unexpectedly as he opened up and Merlin isn’t sure if he’ll ever get able to reach him ever again.

Merlin hoped for the best but prepared himself for the worst. However, it doesn’t make it easier. Expecting something and actually going through it are two different things. Right now, Merlin’s emotions are very real, and they hurt much more than he thought they would. Merlin wishes he could say something—anything–to convince Arthur to stay, but he can’t think of anything. He doesn’t know what to say, and his chest feels so tight that breathing is a struggle, his eyes stinging with tears he refuses to shed.

It happens so quickly that Merlin barely registers what’s going on at first. One second Arthur is taking Merlin’s sweater off and folding it, and the next one he’s facing Merlin. Merlin’s trapped between the wall and Arthur’s body, intense blue eyes pinning him in place. The sudden and unexpected proximity makes Merlin’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he stares at Arthur’s face, panting. Shining with determination, Arthur's eyes flicker between Merlin's eyes and his mouth before finally settling on his eyes. Arthur tilts his head to the side, his gaze begging for Merlin’s consent. Merlin doesn’t hesitate. Unable to speak, he smiles and nods, hoping it’s enough. He wants this. He wants Arthur to kiss him so badly, he wants _Arthur_.

Smiling back at Merlin, Arthur takes his time. He rests a hand gently against Merlin’s jaw and strokes his cheek with his thumb, looking down into his eyes. Merlin remains still as his body buzzes with anticipation and impatience. Arthur takes a step forward, pressing their bodies together. He watches with interest as Arthur’s tongue darts out and wets his lips before he leans in. Merlin keeps his eyes anchored on Arthur’s until their faces are too close and their noses brush. Arthur’s lips meet Merlin’s the moment he closes his eyes, tasting his mouth tentatively. It’s a quick peck, just a chaste kiss, but it sets Merlin’s body on fire and makes his heart flutter. It leaves him wanting for more but before Merlin can go for another kiss, Arthur presses his forehead against Arthur and whispers:

“I’m not okay.”

Merlin’s eyes remain closed as he rests a hand against Arthur’s chest, above his heart. “I know.”

Arthur breathes out and pulls away. When Merlin opens his eyes, Arthur’s looking at him with a troubled expression.

“I’m not okay,” Arthur repeats. “I’m not okay with leaving, or letting this end, and I’m not okay with spending Christmas alone.”

“You don’t have to,” Merlin tells Arthur, taking his face between his hands. He holds Arthur’s face in place, giving no other choice but to look into his eyes. “You can come to my mom’s with me,” he offers without thinking about it twice. “I’m sure she won’t mind one more guest.”

Arthur cocks an eyebrow at Merlin in a flirty, teasing way that is neither forced nor shallow. However, having Arthur’s chest pressed against his, Merlin feels the heavy sigh of relief that leaves his body. Merlin feels lighter as well, as if he’s the one who’s just breathed out a sigh of relief.

“We kissed once,” Arthur points out with a smile. “Isn’t it too early for the whole _meet the parents_ thing?”

“You call that a kiss?” Merlin laughs, his desire to tease Arthur back. “I’d call that a kiss if we were—”

The rest of Merlin’s sentence dies in the back of his throat, replaced by a moan when Arthur cuts him off with another kiss. Arthur kisses him hard, with an eagerness and passion that makes Merlin’s knees go weak and his head spins. As Arthur deepens the kiss, his tongue tentatively licks against Merlin’s bottom lip until Merlin’s lips part. Merlin grabs Arthur by the back of the neck, both to bring Arthur closer and not lose his balance. Merlin kisses Arthur back with just as much fervor and need, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now,” Arthur starts after ending the kiss and pauses to lick his lips. “How’s that for a kiss?”

Still lightheaded, Merlin hums, pretending to think. “ I think you can do better.”

“I _know_ I can do better,” Arthur states, smirking, shrugging as he takes a step back. “But you’re going to have to wait.”

“I hate you,” Merlin grunts in frustration, but he grabs Arthur’s shirt and brings his body back against his.

“No you don’t,” Arthur declares before pressing a kiss to Merlin’s jaw. “You like me,” he adds with confidence.

He tugs at the collar of Merlin’s turtleneck to kiss Merlin’s skin.

“I do,” Merlin admits, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair as Arthur sucks at his skin. “Even if you are cocky, bad at bak—”

Once again, Arthur stops Merlin from finishing his sentence by kissing him on the lips, soft and tender.

“I like you too,” Arthur smiles after pulling away.

Merlin knows he’s blushing, but he couldn’t care less. “Christmas is the best,” he sighs, leaning in for another kiss.

“I’m starting to see why people like it so much,” Arthur admits, meeting Merlin halfway. He presses his lips against Merlin’s, then pulls away. “It’s nice to have someone to spend it with.”

Merlin flashes Arthur a smile, then tugs at Arthur’s shirt to kiss him again. As they kiss in the stillness of Christmas morning, Merlin realizes he was right. This isn’t a Christmas movie; it’s so much better.


End file.
